


I have touched these limbs

by orphan_account



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Human Perry, M/M, Mentions of them having sex but no descriptions of it at all, No real plot mostly an introspective work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 12:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The creeping sunlight catches Perry's silhouette perfectly and every single emotion and memory of your time together collides within you.





	I have touched these limbs

**Author's Note:**

> Another introspective work for Heinz regarding his and Perry's relationship. I wrote this in about an hour out of nowhere while watching t.v with my family so it was a bit more sudden than I expected, but hey. One more fic done. 
> 
> Anyhow, I got more established Heinz/Perry, songfics, and some stuff with Perry being the main perspective coming up!

You breathe, face crooked into the side of his neck as you pepper butterfly light kisses along Perry’s warm skin. He shivers and you can’t help but admire how the light that escapes from the blinds of your window bathes his features. He glows wonderfully, the teal of his hair backlit and shining in a way that you could mistake it for a halo. It illuminates him pleasantly, casting an alluring atmosphere that only aids in drawing you closer to him, your bodies working together. Oh, you would know his touch instantly. Even blind or deaf, even by smell alone. His presence was second nature to you. Even in death, you would know. You fit together carefully, your jagged ends easing into him just perfectly. 

 

Sometimes when you two do this when the mood is right when you kiss him your teeth class awkwardly, you make an odd sound, or something just silly enough happens to make both of you get the giggles you reflect on how awe-inspiring it is to have him here with you. What a sheer honor it is to have Perry the Platypus in your arms, closing his eyes and baring his body, vulnerable and perfect. So you kiss it, making each touch a vow to him. 

 

When you make love to him, it mirrors your battles as much as it feels like creation. Building something new together each time, binding you. You were never a religious man but it is with him in bed that you call to god, that you ever get close to prayer, that you consider his body a temple. And when you say his name it almost sounds like worship. You weren’t about to convert to anything, but if you were to declare a religion, you would seriously consider the way Perry kisses you to be something as proof of heaven. Certainly, no life (afterlife or not) would be complete without it. You would promise anything to any force to keep him in your life. 

 

And you clearly remember each promise you have made to him, from the start. That time on your knees when your chest clenched at the sight of him more disheveled than you had ever seen before, how you would hurt him only in the right ways. And then again, when you were on your knees asking him to spend a lifetime with you. He said yes, of course. He wasn’t good at denying you anything, least of all this. That memory was delicately burned into your brain, with all the care and fondness that surrounded it. 

 

And you promise. It will always be this. For as long as he will have you, you will be here. No words seem big enough to ever fill the truth of how dearly you love this man so you have to settle for this. Which isn’t really settling at all. It’s a sort of gift, spending your years with this man. This man whose touch is etched into memory, slender fingers well known by your aging skin. 

 

You enjoy moments where the high of making love ease into a peaceful lull, you talking about any which thing that flitters across your mind, and him laying a firm hand across your hip. He steadies you and you teach him to allow for a moment of peace. 

 

You recall when you first chided him about overworking, digging your palms into his shoulders, massaging away the tension. He had sighed, of course, and made some halfhearted gestures. But he closed his eyes eventually, soaking in your touch, and you were suddenly vividly aware of the beautiful rarity of such a moment in Perry’s life. A moment where he was able to drift.

 

You and Perry were really more alike than you were different, but it was in this that you two truly complimented one another. Your mind always had been flighty, thought and idea shifting quickly. It left you prone to rambling and tangents that Perry always indulged you with by listening. Perry was a man who kept himself hyper-focused, unshakable even in the face of himself. You worried about him sometimes, keeping so much under his skin like that, tucked away from where you could do anything. But you came to learn that Perry dealt with his traumas differently. He had only fairly recently really recognized the way OWCA and being an agent had affected him. So you were patient and appreciated when you grounded you while you offered him an escape to his own unflinching weight. Where you faltered, he did not. 

 

You learn a lot from Perry because of course you do. He teaches you how beautiful things can come from unbearable places, (you’re still learning to see yourself as one of those things), and the way light exists within some of the deepest bellies of woe. With his lips, you learn how kisses can pour warmth down your throat and ignite a fire inside of your stomach. The dual nature of the universe, of him, you learn through how he cradles your hips, the way his punches shatter, the way his voice is softer than twilight. 

 

You learn the giddiness of loving and being loved. You learn how to smile for so long, so hard that your cheeks hurt. You learn that you did not have to fear about speaking too much. You learn how under freedom your words well up. You learn that they bring along memories that he carefully erases with the new, the time you two spend together. You learn the rising of his chest and his adorable quirks he keeps so delicately concealed. You learn the way his hair looks after having morning sex, the way he sounds when you unabashedly make him laugh, the way his eyes grow solemn and serious under the gaze of his agency.

You learn the way bruises bloom like a banquet underneath his skin. The way courage costs, the price too often being too many broken bones, bandage woven ribs, ragged breathing. You didn’t know which of you was more broken than the other, but sometimes it was too much for you both. It was then you would lean in on one another, float above it all with hands linked so neither of you got lost in the tragedy of it all. He remains the most beautiful and complete thing you know, terrible and lovely, too full of foolish courage and duty. You share scars, tracing over one another’s patterned skin with a reverent touch. Ribboned, raw, jagged, misplaced. Each with a backstory of some sort. Perry is less hasty to share his than you are. And even with some of yours, when he pauses at the scarred skin, you go silent. He moves on respectfully. The frail span of your body comforts him, feeling the weight of time upon him. You hold it precious, these moments when he is here and safe. Where violence is left behind and he is left in your capable hands. Where he can be careless with himself and where you will only hurt him in the proper way. Never truly. Never completely.

 

In the distant past, back in your artistic phase, you smoked. You left the nasty habit years ago, but you can still remember the quiet inhalation of smoke, a burn that you became accustomed to. Your throat would feel raw in a way you never could compare until you first made love to Perry. You had been noisy, because of course, but it wasn’t your throat that ached as much as your heart. It felt so bare and wide open. You exhaled, inhaled, blinked, and Perry didn’t disappear, it wasn’t a dream. You were faced with a reality that someone as beautiful as he was could reciprocate such a love. You lightly held onto him, your thumb tracing his wrist idly and focused on the thumping of his heartbeat to soothe you, a lulling rhythm that entranced you easier than anything else. 

 

And he breathes beside you, sun spots covering where you lay. You feel a little wistful for the days you could paint. The way he looks draped along your bed, he would fit perfectly in those paintings with all those beautiful gods or Greek heroes. If anyone was capable of becoming art, it would be him. Poets would love him. The words they could write about his soul. You are sure that if you voiced this that he would disagree. He doesn’t conceive himself gentle enough for art, doesn’t grasp the delicate way sun kisses his cheek and leaves you breathless. You caress his knuckles, appreciating his two good hands that touched you exactly how you needed. You bandaged them before when they got bloody. And kissed them. His hands trembled then. 

 

There was a time that Perry had said he was never afraid of anything. It was a lie, you knew immediately. Bravado that perhaps he convinced himself of, tricked and trained his mind to believe, but you had learned all the signs by now. You could detect the change of his breathing, the twitch of his gaze, the effort he focused on calculating. You knew what people said about him, casting him as a legend, beyond a man or boy. Legends don’t love. And you couldn’t reconcile this agent they spoke of and your Perry the Platypus. It was absurd. Was he a hero? Yes, to you, but no one else had the true right to claim him as such. His victories were ones far greater than what they got to see. Besides, heroes like that, those renowned ones they compared him to, you refused to let him be. They never got a happy ending. They always ended up martyrs. You were the one that had to convince him that he was just as susceptible to emotions as any other. He didn’t take it well, but denial only lasts for so long. And as is anything else with you both, it was a process. A journey to take together, where destruction and duty were not all he had to become. He is tethered to you in this.

 

Back around when it all began, you despised him, in your own sexually frustrated way. After all, who did he think he was, head lifted proud, feet planted upon the ground with a sense of a mission and always meddling in your perfectly capable plans. Though the heat of any anger never truly came. After all, to watch him fight, to watch him win, the rise and fall of his fists and his passion was enough to keep you going. To motivate another and another inator. It fueled something rooted deep inside you. Your perception, understanding, began to morph as the days drew on. You watch him watch you. Briefly, you feel as though you are chasing after a star, scorching the sky, and you feel foolish. But you breathe, and you kiss him, and you do not burn. He is the best of men. This is a man who could destroy you. And yet here you are, more whole than you have been in your entire life. 

 

Here you are. And here you will stay.

 

You angled your head, tucked over his elbow and against his side. The sun casts shapes along both of you. It bleeds past him now, the angel bringing in more light. Your restless movement to better appreciate your husbands face does not go unnoticed, with him now cocking an eyebrow at you questioningly, mouth turning. You grin, voice humming with playful adoration, “I hope you know how pretty you are, Perry the Platypus. It’s seriously not fair, how was I not supposed to fall in love with that? You’re the one who trapped me this time I guess you could say. Right?” Try as you may to make it sound like an accusation, you know he knows better. He is as exasperatedly fond of your sappiness as you are by his aloofness. Anyhow, you were always better with words than he was.


End file.
